


Red Panels

by ExplodedPen



Series: Panels [2]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-09
Updated: 2008-03-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 07:25:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExplodedPen/pseuds/ExplodedPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this almost immediately after writing it's predecessor <a href="http://explodedpen.livejournal.com/41460.html#cutid1">Grey Panels</a>, this time from Malcolm's POV</p>
    </blockquote>





	Red Panels

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this almost immediately after writing it's predecessor [Grey Panels](http://explodedpen.livejournal.com/41460.html#cutid1), this time from Malcolm's POV

Later when Malcolm tries to remember the precise events of what happened, all he can muster is the blistering feel of the heat slamming him into Travis. He's pretty sure the blast catapulted them out into the corridor beyond the room, but then all he can remember is burning and staring at Travis in an effort to stay awake. He remembers too the look of agonised regret on Travis's face and the slight movement of his lips. 

_“I'm sorry.”_

It was stupid but he wasn't entirely sure Phlox would be able to save him this time and so expending his last shred of energy bringing a small ounce of useless comfort to a friend and fellow crewman seemed prudent.

“ _Wasn't...your fault.”_

When he wakes properly, days later, he wakes with a whimper and a soft comforting voice at his side.

“ _It's ok, Mal, I got ya_.”

It's Trip's voice that grounds him in the moments that follow, the sound of Travis's words carrying across sickbay.

“ _I shouldn't have fallen._ ”

He can hear the unspoken words of self-recrimination. He knows them all to well having repeated them to himself on more than one occasion; there are some he thinks will never leave him, regardless of what was said. 

“ _Is he okay? Really okay?...I can hear him_.”

Malcolm wonders what he's said but can't remember anything except the terrifying pain of burning flesh and bloody limbs. He thinks perhaps he cried out in pain and immediately feels the crushing weight of guilt at knowing he is the source of the cheerful Ensign's pain. 

His fingers tap Trip's hand and his friend immediately stares at him with concern. "Tell him...stop being." It's difficult to talk and his throat still feels as if it's clogged with smoke. "So bloody...stupid." He manages a small nod as Trip relays the message but can't hold back the indignant noise of protest as the brutal murder of an English accent.

Even this, however, taxes him more than he ever thought possible and he doesn't have the energy to fight the overwhelming desire to sleep.

Malcolm has no idea how much time has past since he fell asleep, though at a guess a good few hours considering the lights in sickbay are dimmed. Perfectly willing to bask in the numbed peace of Phlox's best painkillers he stares at the grey panelled ceiling, with its millions of tiny holes. He actually starts to count them after a while, in his head, just to check all his faculties are in order even though, he ruefully admits, he'd have no idea if anything was wrong.

“ _Ensign run_!”

The memory of Travis falling with a sharp cry of pain sledgehammers into the forefront of his mind, so much so that an involuntary whimper passes his lips before he can stop it. Malcolm remembers the almost paralysing worry that froze his mind even as his body reacted, seconds from explosion he knows he thought his young friend would perish. Analysing the thought now he knows that the risk to himself never crossed his mind, only the knowledge that he couldn't lose someone again – but he admits he thought that only after he had dragged Travis to his feet.

There's a shuffling sound and quiet gasps on the periphery of his hearing, he risks turning his head and hisses in pain as tender skin protests the unwarranted movement. When the world returns to full colour Travis is by his bedside, limbs trembling, face coated in sweat, hands gripping the biobed like a lifeline.

"Hi," Travis mumbles.

"Hi." His throat hurts less now, he finds. He considers telling Travis he's being extremely foolish but he knows there's no point. He's been in Travis's position once, a long time ago, only he had left a long bloody trail across the sickbay floor. He nearly died that day, he remembers suddenly, but then he's almost died a lot these days. With a jolt he comes out of his thoughts and stares up at Travis. "Not your fault."

"I shouldn't have fallen." Travis's speech is fluid but he's still breathing heavily.

Malcolm considers his next choice of words carefully. "Was an accident." He's already tiring and he's done nothing. "Did you...intend to fall?"

"No!" The word echoes round sickbay and Travis - if possible - looks guiltier. "But I did and you got hurt because of it."

"I made the decision to go back for you," he never realised it took this much energy to talk in complete sentences. "I chose to help, I didn't have to. It was my choice, not your fault."

Travis bows his head, his limbs shaking with greater intensity and Malcolm wonders whether or not Phlox is aware of what is happening, but letting it happen to help Travis in some way. "If I -"

"No ifs, no maybes," the painkillers are beginning to wear off now. "Not your fault...that's an order." He attempts a smile but Travis doesn't return it. He musters all his remaining energy. "The guilt will fade."

"Not completely," it's so quiet he can barely hear it.

"Not completely," no, the guilt never goes completely, it joins in with the other mish-mash of guilt that reminds and occasionally threatens to overwhelm, but..."It does fade."

"You nearly died."

"So did you." God, he's exhausted now. He can feel pain eating away at his numbed body. "Dangerous job."

"I guess."

Malcolm has no energy to muster any form of further comfort and wants nothing more than to pass into sweet oblivion once more, but then he thinks that doing so in front of Travis would do more harm than good. 

"I'm sorry, Malcolm."

Malcolm stares at the man beside him, injured, hurting in more ways than one and with nothing except the grey panelled ceilings of sickbay to distract him. "Me too."

This, it seems, is enough. 

Phlox materialises from nowhere and within seconds Travis has disappeared to his own bed, with Phlox fussing over him like an overgrown mother hen. 

"I had to see for myself," he hears Travis say quietly.

This Malcolm understands, he can hear the muted acceptance in Travis's voice and knows the young man will be ok now. He closes his eyes and quietly slips into sleep.

 


End file.
